


Hazey and Glassey-Eyed

by LucisAbsentia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucisAbsentia/pseuds/LucisAbsentia
Summary: In which Obi-Wan falls ill during a simple mission, and Qui-Gon cares for him through his own anxieties.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44
Collections: QuiObi Secret Santa 2020





	Hazey and Glassey-Eyed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firondoiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firondoiel/gifts).



> Hurt/comfort sickfic was requested and h/c sickfic was written! I hope you enjoy it, Firo!

Qui-Gon is quiet as he moves through the small room, making his way over to where his apprentice lies in bed. Kneeling, he sets down the bucket of cool water, dipping a rag into it to wet it before gently laying it across Obi-Wan’s forehead. He hopes it will at least help to alleviate the fever the other man is running. Gods, his skin is hot, Qui-Gon can feel it even without touching the other. He groans quietly in his sleep, uneasily shifting, and Qui-Gon wonders what he’s dreaming. 

The planet they’d arrived on ten days ago was lush and verdant, a place that Qui-Gon thrived in. He could feel the living Force so closely here, almost as if he was wearing it as a second skin. It beat in the heart of every plant, every tree, every breath of wind across his face. Obi-Wan didn’t appreciate it quite as much, but then again he’d always preferred places with a bit more technology. Here, that was virtually nonexistent. The people here led simple lives, happy ones, with minimal offworld contact. The two Jedi were there for an easy mission, to help negotiate a trade agreement for a crop native to this planet. It was simple, and they could enjoy their free time exploring the wilderness. 

It had been during one such moment that had led to Obi-Wan’s current condition. It wasn’t monumentous: Obi-Wan had reached out to touch a delicate flower, and a small slithering creature had bit his wrist. At the time, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. There were no immediate effects, and he’d said it hadn’t hurt. 

Of course, when he fell ill with fever a day later, they’d discovered that assessment had been wrong. The village elder that served as their doctor had said this was normal: apparently the creature was abundant, and there were a few cases of this illness every spring and summer. Nonlethal, she had said, at least if the proper care was given. But the fever was long, and great care needed to be taken to ensure a sick body wouldn’t waste away.

Qui-Gon returns his attention to his apprentice, chest aching slightly as he gently wipes down his chest and shoulders with another damp rag. Obi-Wan wears only his underclothes, although a blanket is piled on the other side of him. In between bouts of sleep, when he’d been awake and at least somewhat lucid, he alternately proclaimed to be hot before shivering and whimpering about the cold. This had been the compromise, to keep Obi-Wan as undressed as possible for the bouts of heat while keeping something warm close when he got cold again. 

For the past few days, Obi-Wan has mostly been sleeping. It isn’t a surprise: his fever started mild, but had slowly progressed to this point. He’s unable to function properly, his body trying to sweat it out. That’s fine, Qui-Gon can handle that. He’s been at Obi-Wan’s side constantly, only taking a sparse amount of time to sleep or replacing that with a light meditation when he could instead. He’s wiped him down, made sure he stays hydrated, tried to feed him a clear broth every so often. 

Still, his chest feels as if it’s in a perpetual state of anxiety. It’s most irregular for him, and later he’ll examine why this rattles him so much - it is not supposed to. He is a Jedi, and this is simply a slight fever. On many missions before this either himself or his apprentice has been injured or ill. It’s a normal enough occurrence. And yet he can’t shake the tightness whenever the other man shifts, lost in some fever dream.

Obi-Wan’s breathing picks up a little, and Qui-Gon looks up from gently wiping at his arms to see his face. His eyes are open, but heavy, fever shining in his eyes like glass. His lips part, but he doesn’t get much of anything out. Qui-Gon is worried. Even knowing that the fever isn’t deadly doesn’t help. He’s been told of how heavy everything feels, how much Obi-Wan’s body must be aching. Being in such a state of helplessness does not come easily to either of them, and he wonders if Obi-Wan is even conscious enough to know he is helpless. 

For a moment Qui-Gon merely watches as Obi-Wan breathes, his chest rising and falling a bit more shallowly than Qui-Gon likes. When he leans in to continue wiping the sweat of Obi-Wan’s skin, the man hardly reacts.

It’s not until the next day that Obi-Wan stirs a little more substantially than he has been. Unfortunately, when he does, it’s not promising.

“M-master,” Obi-Wan breathes, and that gets Qui-Gon’s attention, his eyes flickering to watch the other’s face. Obi-Wan is still clearly out of it, calling for him but not because he knows he’s by his side. The man stares at the ceiling, eyes searching it for answers. “Master, don’t - don’t leave!”

Qui-Gon moves to his side, his steps quick. He settled down again, hesitantly reaching out, placing a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm. “I’m right here, Obi,” he murmurs, trying not to let a frown crease his brow. Obi-Wan doesn’t seem very lucid, but Qui-Gon doesn’t want him to see any hint of negativity on his face. His body is so hot, the skin underneath Qui-Gon’s hand burning up, and truthfully the older Jedi was starting to get worried despite the reassurances he’d been given that this fever had never been the death of anyone from the villages. What if the people who lived here simply had some sort of immunity that Obi-Wan’s body did not? What if this was more dangerous than they’d thought, and now it would be too late to get help for Obi-Wan?

Qui-Gon closes his eyes, forces in a deep breath before releasing it again. When he looks to his apprentice, the man is mouthing something quietly, something that seems unintelligible. His expression is still wounded, and Qui-Gon wonders what exactly he’s dreaming about him. Qui-Gon squeezes his arm once more before removing it, grabbing the cool rags once more to try to bring the other’s temperature down again. Obi-Wan will be fine, he tells himself. He won’t let anything happen to his apprentice. He just needed to be here, to take care of him. See him through this fever.

The next time Qui-Gon wakes from a light doze, Obi-Wan is staring at him. His eyes still have a sheen to them, but he’s definitely looking. 

“Master,” he says weakly, and Qui-Gon stirs immediately. 

“Padawan,” he murmurs. He takes a few moments to help Obi-Wan sit up just a little, guiding a cup of water to his lips. Best not to waste this moment, the poor man has sweated out so much fluid already. “How are you feeling?”

With a grimace, Obi-Wan lays his head back down. “Truthfully? Awful,” he mumbles. The words seem to be laborious, but it’s better than what came before. He looks to Qui-Gon again, something in his gaze worried. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

Qui-Gon nods. “Of course I have, my Obi-Wan,” he murmurs. “You can continue to rest. I’ll be here.”

Obi-Wan looks comforted by that, and he drifts off again shortly after, his sleep less fitful.

When the fever finally breaks a day later, Qui-Gon feels the tension leave him all at once. Obi-Wan’s skin is cool to the touch, he can sit up, hold down a little bit of broth. He’s certainly weak, but Qui-Gon can deal with this, it’s much better than watching the poor man toss and turn in his sleep with no relief. Weak he can cure easily. That, perhaps, was the source of his anxiety, he thinks - the inability to really effectively do anything against a raging fever. Obi-Wan was helpless, but he was too, he could only provide the mildest amount of care, he couldn’t break the fever. 

Obi-Wan spends a few days mostly still laying in bed but occasionally getting up to stretch, to walk around, reacquaint his body to motion. He works his way up to more solid food, too, a healthy flush returning to his cheeks. Qui-Gon finally returns to sleeping next to him, not needing to stay awake as much as he could anymore. He holds Obi-Wan’s hand, turned onto his side to face the other as his mind slowly begins to drift.

“Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan’s voice is quiet, and the other gives him a faint “hm?” in return.

“Thank you, for taking care of me,” Obi-Wan says. It’s almost hesitant.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Qui-Gon asks, opening his eyes to look at his apprentice. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t reply for a long moment. Then - “I just - had a dream, is all,” he says. “I know, it was just the fever, but it seemed real at the time. All I really remember is you leaving. I watched you walk away.” He seems so subdued, and Qui-Gon has to lean in to kiss him softly.

“My dearest Obi-Wan,” he whispers. “I would never leave you. Set it aside, love. I didn’t leave you the entire time, and there isn’t a single situation where I would do so.”

It’s not much, but the words seem to bring his apprentice a little bit of comfort. Obi-Wan smiles, leans in for another kiss. “Yes, Master,” he whispers. “As you say.”

Qui-Gon pulls the covers over them, entangling his legs with Obi-Wan’s. “Now, my apprentice, get some sleep. You’re still recovering. As am I, from the damned heart attack you gave me being sick like that.”

With a laugh, Obi-Wan burrows his face against Qui-Gon’s chest. “Yes, Master. So sorry about that,” he says, a grin clear in his voice. It’s not long before he drifts off, Qui-Gon feeling at peace as he falls asleep shortly after.


End file.
